


Beauty

by AltraViolet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, Gen, Present Tense, html experimenting, idk what this is, possible philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltraViolet/pseuds/AltraViolet
Summary: Drift and Mirage have a disagreement about the definition of beauty. Each asks the members of the Lost Light what beauty is, trying to build up evidence for their own arguments. But the question reveals more than one of them expects it to.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> some kinda Lost Light AU where everyone mentioned is still alive and no one really hates anyone else. Just a quick ficlet to explore the idea.

> “Beauty meets an inherent need for meaningful information.”  
> [~Kurzgesagt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-O5kNPlUV7w)

Visages hurts for patronage, but tonight there is an unexpected guest. Drift is profitable. He has dragged a ring of attentive mechs in with him. They perch atop barstools and gesticulate wildly as they listen to his starry-eyed statements. Mirage finds the subjects of his ramblings tedious, verging on the, were he to verbalize it, _obnoxious._

Still, a patron is a patron, and the engex is finally flowing, and the dishwasher will be needed tonight for the first time in months. All the time Mirage has spent polishing and dusting empty booths is finally not in vain. Mirage smiles and pours and nods along, tabulating the mechs' purchases in his head. He does not spare much of his attention for their excited discussion. But the subject of Drift's latest round of verbosity catches Mirage's audials. He listens as he works, bending closer to hear as he stacks glasses. He scrutinizes Drift's words. He frowns.

Closing hour approaches. Mirage turns off the taps and calls in the tabs. Mechs throw down tarnished shanix and file out, all tired smiles and laughter. Drift stands to go, but Mirage gestures for him to remain in his seat.

“Not enough?” asks Drift. He pushes more shanix towards Mirage. They're shinier than those left by his friends, standing out silver between empty glasses and rumpled napkins.

“Thank you for your patronage tonight,” says Mirage, gathering the money. “It is most appreciated. I must say your discussions are _most_ vehement.”

Drift grins. “Yeah.”

“However, I must correct you. Your argument, heartfelt as it was, is nonetheless incorrect.”

Drift raises an ocular arch. His field has a tinge of jocularity. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

“Which part? I'm flattered. I didn't know you were listening.”

Mirage brushes that comment aside. “The question of most import, of course. _What is beauty?”_

“Ahh, the classic. Being one with the universe, of course!”

“That is _silly_ nonsense,” says Mirage. “Everyone knows beauty is aesthetic. It must be physical in _some_ way. A finely crafted glass. A handsome mech. A joyous harmony.”

“But there's beauty in everything, Mirage. Even thoughts. You can't _hold_ a thought, can you?” Drift motions to the door. “What about Toaster?” He puts his hand over his spark. “Have you ever met a mech more beautiful on the inside?”

Mirage scoffs. “Toaster _is_ a grand example of a mech, but I contest that he does not define beauty in that way.”

“Sure he does,” says Drift. “The connections between us all, the webs of friendships and intimacy, you can't feel those things with your fingers. But you feel them with your spark. And that's beautiful.”

Mirage rolls his eyes. Mechs pontificating on friendships is the last thing he wants to hear tonight.

“One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen was a troupe of fellow travelers with me on the astral plane,” continues Drift. “Wandering through the universe, unraveling its mysteries together. It was breathtaking.”

“One of your _'spiritual'_ hallucinations, I suspect,” says Mirage. He waves a hand. “Easily dismissed.”

“Hey-”

“I propose a challenge,” says Mirage. “We shall ask everyone aboard if beauty is physical or metaphysical. The victor then will be clear.”

“I accept your challenge,” says Drift. He winks and walks away.

~~

The next night, after the bar is needlessly closed, as it had been empty all day, Mirage and Drift tabulate their data onto one pad and study it.

### What Is Beauty?

**Mech** | **Exact Quote** | **Physical** | **Metaphysical**  
---|---|---|---  
Ratchet | "resuscitation" | 

X

|   
Whirl | "knowing I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and being happy about that" |  | 

X  
  
Rodimus | (struck a pose) | 

X

|   
Atomizer | "a bullseye" | 

X

|   
Cyclonus | (silence) |  | 

X  
  
Megatron | "truth" |  | 

X  
  
Chromedome | (pointed at Rewind) | 

X

|   
Rewind | (pointed at Chromedome) | 

X

|   
Trailbreaker | "good friends, good drink!" | 

X

|   
Swerve | "what he (Trailbreaker) said" | 

X

|   
Perceptor | "P1+ρgy1+½ρv12=P2+ρgy2+½ρv22" |  | 

X???  
  
~~

“I think there is a clear winner here,” says Mirage. He pours a drink for himself and Drift, his spark heavy. These are the only he's poured all day.

“There are 200 mechs on this ship!” says Drift. “We need to ask more.”

Mirage brushes the data pad's glossy surface. “I must confess, there are several people I asked whose answers I did not notate.”

“Me too,” says Drift. “I don't know _what_ Ultra Magnus was quoting, but I didn't have it in me to try to write it out.”

“Likewise, First Aid described a medical situation too horrifying to _possibly_ qualify. Perhaps he thought I asked in jest. Nautica and Velocity got into a heated argument. Something about the expectations of Camian society.” 

“Rung asked me the question back and I got sidetracked for an hour,” says Drift sheepishly. “The next thing I knew, he'd disappeared.”

“Brainstorm quoted an equation even _longer_ than Perceptor's. Purposefully, I suspect.”

“Ravage bit my leg.”

Mirage sighs. He leans on the bar, settling his hand under his chin. “The humans have a saying: _beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”_

“In the _eye?_ I knew humans were weird, but-”

“It is not a phrase meant to be taken literally,” says Mirage. He traces the silver inlay on the bar top with a fingertip. “It means that the experience of beauty is unique to each individual, because it is filtered through that individual's senses.”

“And what I experience and what you experience are definitely different,” says Drift.

“Indeed.” 

“So... so maybe it's the _experience_ itself, then,” says Drift. “That covers both our parameters.”

“I suppose,” says Mirage. He sighs. “That's such a _dissatisfactory_ answer.”

“Why?”

“Because it is inherently nebulous,” says Mirage. “The _'experience.'_ How does one define _that?”_

Drift laughs. “I didn't know you were a philosopher, Mirage.”

“I'm _not._ I find all that talk quite irritating. No answers are ever found. People argue about definitions in circles, disagreeing about everything, until they disband for the next great argument.” Mirage holds up a fluted glass. “This glass exists. It is beautiful. I can show it to any sentient organism in the universe and they can have an opinion on it. I can't show them,” he waves at the data pad, _“'I'm waking up tomorrow'_ and expect them to understand.”

“Beauty needs context?”

“Beauty either _is_ or _isn't,”_ says Mirage. “It can't exist as an indefinite thing. It's either _there_ or it's _not._ It's-”

“Like you?”

“-what?” Mirage startles.

Drift leans forward. “I think I know what this is about.”

“What?” Mirage eyes him suspiciously.

“Your aura is crying out,” says Drift. “The pain of loneliness.”

_“Ugh.”_ Though he acts disgusted, Mirage's spark freezes up. Auras be damned. Something in him must be broadcasting his true feelings. He pulls his field in close and forces his posture to relax.

_“Please,_ I get enough of that lofty dismissal from Ratchet.”

Mirage frowns.

“What I mean is, I think the idea of being there or not is hardwired into you. Because of, you know.” Drift waves at him. “Either you're there or you're not, right?”

“R- right,” says Mirage, still eyeing him. “From _your_ point of view.”

“Exactly. When you're not there, to us- when you're invisible- you _are_ still there. Right?”

“Of course.”

“That's got to be an interesting place, mentally,” says Drift. “Existing in a nebulous state. Right?”

“Not literally-”

“But from everyone else's point of view. If you were invisible and brushed against me, I'd probably flip out.” He touches his scabbard. “It might get dangerous.”

Mirage smiles wryly. “I have the experience to avoid such dangers.”

“I'm sure.” Drift cocks his head. “Is this question actually about you, Mirage?”

_“What?”_

“During the war, you had to be very careful. Going visible at the wrong time could be deadly. You were definitely either-or, for the sake of survival.”

“Yes.”

“But now the war is over. You've lost that purpose. Do you even go invisible anymore?”

“Not often. I fail to see what that has to do with this discussion!” Mirage pouts. “You've made it personal, now.”

“Beauty is meaningful to you. To all of us. It feels some kind of need. It has a function. And you've lost yours.”

Mirage gasped.

“Not in the- okay, I phrased that badly. I didn't mean it like, you know, Function-function.” Drift shakes his head. “But no one's needed your specialty for a while now. You started this bar to find meaning, but it's struggling.” He glances at the exit. “Why do you think I brought my friends yesterday?”

“To pity me,” says Mirage dourly.

“Well... not exactly. We got kicked out of Swerve's. And there's nowhere else to go but the cafeteria that late at night. But! We still had a good time.” 

Mirage presses his lips in a thin line. 

“We'll come again. Tomorrow.”

“Your patronage is appreciated,” says Mirage flatly.

“Good.” Drift leans forward. “Do you feel _fulfilled_ with your life, Mirage?”

Mirage's field flares with anger. He looks around his bar, with its sparkling clean furniture, glassware, and neon lights. Its floor devoid of footprints and tire treads. The empty spaces in the booths he had lovingly picked out for their geometric lines and symmetry. “No,” he says bitterly. “Where are the _people._ Why am I not _good enough_ for their attention. Have I not built a lovely place for them to gather?”

“You have,” says Drift.

Mirage sniffs.

“I think I know what you need to hear,” says Drift. The plating of his shoulders tilts back in earnest. _“You are beautiful,_ Mirage.”

Mirage scoffs. “Of course.” He looks away. 

“I mean it,” says Drift gently. “And if you open up, I think you'll find that what you're missing will come to you.”

“Well.” Despite himself, the words warm Mirage's spark. The unhappiness in his lines eases just a bit. “Thank you.”

“The next time we have a discussion, jump in. A bunch of the guys are on your side. They'd appreciate having such an elegant voice stand up to mine.”

“...alright. I will.” Mirage resets his vocalizer. “For the record, Drift, your physical beauty _far_ surpasses your intangible qualities.”

“Hah! That's the prettiest insult I've ever gotten. They'll _love_ you.” Drift raises his glass. “To beauty.”

“To beauty,” says Mirage. He smiles.


End file.
